


my lips could build a castle

by malkinisms (hannibalisms)



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: F/M, HAPPY STABLE TRIAD RELATIONSHIP, M/M, Multi, Triad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalisms/pseuds/malkinisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the first time that he's seen Tom in a few months in the flesh; he's talked to him on Skype, of course, and when they could all get together with their different schedules they would have a conference call - him, Tom, and Elsa, with India making a few appearances as well.  But now they're here together and filming, even though they'll only have a few days at best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my lips could build a castle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theradicaldame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theradicaldame/gifts), [Velociraptor_Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velociraptor_Hands/gifts), [prince0froses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince0froses/gifts), [VulgarSequins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulgarSequins/gifts).



> for [sugarbonesloki](http://sugarbonesloki.tumblr.com), [queen0fcups](http://queen0fcups.tumblr.com), [velociraptor-hands](http://velociraptor-hands.tumblr.com), and [theradicaldame](http://theradicaldame.tumblr.com).
> 
> takes place in Iceland, during the filming of Thor 2 (since i am assuming that tom and chris met up when they were both in country, and if they didn't or weren't there at the same time, eh, whatevs)
> 
> title comes from ["some nights" by fun.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQkBeOisNM0).
> 
> also [here on tumblr](http://kipumylly.tumblr.com/post/36862185309/fic-my-lips-could-build-a-castle).

This is the first time that he's seen Tom in a few months in the flesh; he's talked to him on Skype, of course, and when they could all get together with their different schedules they would have a conference call - him, Tom, and Elsa, with India making a few appearances as well.

But now they're here together and filming, even though they'll only have a few days at best.

He's watching Tom say goodbye to some fans, hidden in the shadows because if they saw them together they'd never have any peace, and he waits until Tom slinks back to him.  He's glowing, so pleased to meet people that like what he does; Tom's a rare breed that says that he acts for them more than he acts for himself, even though he loves it.  He acts to make people think and make people wonder, and he does an amazing job of it.

"Sorry, darling," Tom says but Chris shrugs it off as they walk back to their hotel; they managed to get in the same one but they're on different floors, not that it matters, since Chris made sure that Tom brought his things to his room.

"You know it doesn't bother me, I've told you before," Chris tells him, nudging him with an elbow as Tom peels open a wrapped chocolate.

Tom snaps the piece in two and hands half to Chris, who shouldn't eat it because he's pretty sure this is not on his trainer's list of things he's allowed to eat during filming, but he'll do some press-ups later to make up for it.

"Yes, but you've had quite a long day, longer than mine, so I don't want you to wait for me; I've just gotten here, but I don't want to make you wait, darling."  Tom smiles at him, all teeth, and it makes Chris grin in turn.

"I'll last, trust me.  I'm not going to fall asleep on you, Thomas," and Tom blushes scarlet as he always does when Chris uses his full name.  He's the only one that can do that, really, make Tom blush like a schoolgirl.

He loves it.

"Well, then, will you suffer through me eating dinner?  The food on the plane was ridiculously awful."

"Of course."

Tom's swinging the arm that isn't wheeling along his suitcase as though he doesn't know what to do with it, and Chris circles around him from the street side to be closer to the buildings and takes his hand because it's dark enough that they don't have to worry about people either recognizing them or caring who they are.

Tom flushes again, but his fingers squeeze Chris' as they walk until they reach the hotel.

Tom has always been effusive with his affection, so Chris knows the only reason he lets go of Chris' hand is because of Chris and Elsa; they like keeping their private lives private, or as much as is possible.

They make their way up - and Tom takes his hand again in the elevator, since they're alone - and he tugs Chris along to Chris' room, quieter than he normally is.

Once they're in - and Tom has ordered his dinner, and they've both changed into sweatpants, Tom pulling on a singlet and Chris not bothering - Chris settles against the headboard, and Tom curls into his side.

Tom checks his Twitter - Chris always jokes that he's addicted - and his various email accounts before he sets the alarm for the next morning and sets it to the side.

His hair is black again and Chris misses the curly blond mop that originally grabbed his attention, but he knows that it will be back eventually.  He buries his nose in Tom's hair, and even though he smells like plane he smells good, like Tom always does, and Tom laughs a little.

"Do I pass the sniff test?"

"Well enough," Chris says, and Tom tilts his head back to smile at him.

"I've missed you.  Both of you."

"We've missed you as well, you know we have.  It's nice to be here with you, and I know Elsa would be if she could be," Chris says and loops an arm around his shoulders.  Tom presses his face into the plane of his chest and Chris can feel him smiling.

"Are you awfully tired, darling?"

Chris grins, tracing his fingers under the neck of Tom's singlet.  "Not any more."

Tom laughs, and rolls so that his head is resting on Chris' thigh and he's looking up at him and smiling, eyes half-shut, through his damnable eyelashes, and Chris really wants to roll him over, pin him down, and fuck that smile right off of him.  He knows that Tom knows what he wants.

"I was thinking, darling," Tom starts, and he reaches up to tug on the end of Chris' ponytail before continuing, "that if you were a little tired, perhaps you could take it easy, as it were, and let me please you?"

He flushes down the length of his neck, freckles standing out, and it makes Chris grin that even though Tom knows that he's more than welcome to fuck Chris he still gets embarrassed about coming right out and saying it.

Chris sighs and rolls his eyes while smiling, huffing out, "Oh, I  _suppose_ , if you  _must_ ," and Tom laughs.

"I know it's such a hardship for you," he says, sitting up again and pressing a soft kiss to Chris' lips, "but you must deal with it, this once."

Tom rolls off the side of the bed as Chris stands and moves to turn his laptop off but his Skype goes off at the same time; he can't ignore Elsa's call, so he clicks it open.  Leaning over the table, his heart swells to see her face, even though he just recently left her.  "Hello, beautiful, how are you?"

Her picture shifts around a little and she's gotten comfortable on their bed before she answers, "Good, very good, though missing my boys."

Tom comes over and hooks his chin over Chris' shoulder, smiling at her as well.  "Hello,  _cielita_."

Elsa smiles in the way that her eyes crinkle and she scrunches up her nose, and Chris loves her so much in that moment, loves both Tom and Elsa with all his heart.

"I know it's getting late there, but I just wanted to make sure that you were both safe and sound in your room," she says, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, "because I knew you would be together, of course."

"We're fine, though it's not the same without you, darling," Tom answers, "but hopefully we'll be able to all be together eventually."

"Luckily we've just got some last-minute fittings tomorrow before filming begins the day after, so we'll be able to be well-rested before marathoning it out," Chris adds.

Elsa smiles softly, and Chris wants nothing more than to be able to stretch out between her and Tom, watch Tom lick his way up her thighs as Chris does the same to him; it makes him flush and his blood sing.

Tom's arm snakes around his waist and he ignores their conversation as his reality narrows to where Tom's long fingers worm their way under the waist of his sweatpants, just barely, just enough.

His blood roars through his ears for a moment and then it dissipates, and Chris can hear them talking just as Elsa asks him to remember to pick up some postcards for her collection.

"Of course, love.  Do you want landscapes this time, or something else?"

"A variety, I think.  But now, go to bed, even though I know my naughty boys won't be sleeping," she answers, winking.

Tom presses his lips into Chris' shoulder, before licking his way along it to sink his teeth into the cords of Chris' neck, sucking a mark there.

Chris normally doesn't let him, but the collar of his costume is high enough to hide it, and he likes the pain and pleasure together, and he knows that Elsa likes them to be marked.

It makes him drop his head a little as Tom shifts to be directly behind him, and he loves the feelings of the beginning of his arousal; they're of height, and though Chris adores being able to encapsulate Elsa when the cuddle sometimes it's nice to be able to fight it out with Tom, wrestle and try to pin each other and take control.

Elsa clears her throat and their attention returns to her, though she's smiling and reclined against the pillows of the bed.  "Don't let me stop you,  _amores míos_.  Why don't you just leave the camera on for me?"

Tom moans against the back of his neck and Chris nods.  "Yes," he manages to get out, before Tom is pulling him backwards onto the bed.

Tom gets him on his back and cages him in, hands above his shoulders and knees next to his hips, and he licks his lips.  Chris follows the movement of his tongue - that fucking tongue - and when Tom leans down to kiss him the tension goes out of his body.

He can feel himself relaxing, melting into the coverlet, sighing as Tom licks his way into his mouth and maps it out.  Tom has been brilliant at kissing ever since Chris has known him; that's how this all started.

"I've never kissed another man," Tom had said one night over beer and fish and chips in a dark little New York bar.

"I don't believe it," Chris had replied, throwing back the rest of his beer, "you must've, in university at least."

Tom shrugged and smiled in that way that he does.  "Never.  Not for lack of interest on my part, I suppose, but the moment just never presented itself."

Chris blamed it on the beer and the long working hours and the company, but all the same he wrapped a hand around Tom's neck and tugged him forward and pressed his lips to Tom's without even really thinking about it.  Tom didn't move for a few seconds until his mouth dropped open and they were really kissing, in a dank, dark corner of the restaurant.

Tom had pulled away and put his hand to his lips and looked firmly shocked, but Chris had just pulled him up, paid the bill, and took him back to his and Elsa's flat that they had rented.  That was the start of it, right then, Tom panting on the bed with his face pressed in the blanket as Chris fucked him and Elsa raked her fingers through Tom's hair.

He thinks of it now, and it makes him hot and bothered; Tom was so attractive that night - not that he isn't always - but it was the first time that Chris saw him really lose his careful composure and beg for it.  He had been nervous at first, unsure of himself, but when Chris crawled between his legs and licked him out, gotten him sloppy, by the time he was loose enough Tom was gasping into the sheets and leaving red suck marks on Elsa's thighs where he was occupying himself.

He blushed when Chris told him how beautiful his cock was and didn't believe him until later on that night, when Chris and Elsa woke him out of a sound sleep to wring another orgasm out of him.  That was when Chris discovered that Tom didn't mind being held down or told what to do, when he listened perfectly to Chris' directions, not to mention how perfectly he took to Elsa's gasped commands as she rode his face.

It makes him moan into their kiss and sling an arm around his neck, holding him there, even though Tom will be in control tonight, or as much control as he allows himself.

"Undress," Elsa's voice says, tinny and far away, but they both obey until they're nude because it's second nature to just listen to her, follow her directions, and soon enough Tom has settled back down in Chris' lap.

Chris likes being like this, under Tom as he squirms and sighs and gets comfortable across his hips, hands braced on Chris' chest and fingers pressing down.

Chris likes being able to grip Tom's slim hips and feel the bones there, sturdy and strong.  He likes the way that Tom bends his legs and likes that he can drag his hands up and down his thighs, milky-pale and unblemished sans a freckle here and there, and how when he blushes it flows down his chest and along his extremities.

He likes how Tom still smiles nervously, even after more than 2 years of being all together, and how he still lets Chris direct the pace even when Chris hands over the reins.

Tom licks out of his mouth and down his chin, pressing kisses to his throat and nipping at his Adam's apple as he trails his way down Chris' body.  Tom dips his tongue in his navel and smiles up at him from under his lashes as Chris shudders; he knows all of Chris' hot spots and will play them to his advantage.

Chris is so hard now, and he knows that Tom is playing him right now and he doesn't care, so long as Tom uses that talented tongue and mouth in the right way, and soon.

He knots his fingers in Tom's mess of curls and pushes, just a little, just enough to let him know what it is that Chris wants; Tom moans and lets him direct him for a moment.

"Open," Chris says, voice gravelly and deep, and Tom obeys, tongue darting out to lick his lips and watch Chris' other hand trail down his abdomen to wrap around his cock, stroking himself a few times but for whose benefit, he isn't sure.

Tom takes the initiative and joins Chris' hand with one of his own, little moans echoing from his mouth to the time of their strokes.  His eyes are nearly closed, blue-grey-green slits in the soft light and Chris knows that Tom has to be hard, must be, just in the way that he's panting and shifting on the bed.

"Thomas," Chris mumbles, and it seems to remind Tom of the task at hand, as it were, and he grins up at Chris for a second before brushing Chris' hand away and giving his cock a firm lick, root to tip.

"Yes," he hisses, watching as Tom spreads one long-fingered hand out on his hip - to keep him from thrusting, because in this position he doesn't much like to be choked, but that may come later in the night - and slips his tongue under Chris' foreskin for a moment before swallowing him down.

He closes his eyes, because sometimes it's too much to watch Tom, too much to see how Tom does everything with enthusiasm and he's seen it so often that he can picture it in his head.  He can see the way Tom does everything  _well_ , because he hates not knowing how to do things even if they're things that he'll never use.  The first time that Tom blew him he thought that he would have to coach him, just a little, but Tom knew what he was doing and the image that seated itself in his head - of Tom sitting before his computer, watching porn and googling how to give head - made him come in record time.

Now, though, he's learned how to savor those perfect lips and warm mouth and tongue, how it isn't just brilliant with words but with everything.

He finds Tom's hand blindly and their fingers knit, even as Tom pulls off his cock and gasps against his thigh, biting and kissing and licking where he's laid his head.

Chris cracks open an eye and Tom is  _wrecked_ , flushed and panting, lips red and Chris wants to bowl him over and fuck him rough, but he doesn't move.  He wants what Tom wants to give him, and he's willing to wait to see where Tom lets this go.

He can hear Elsa in the background, breathing and moving but it's just background static to him right now. He loves his wife, just as he loves Tom, but she understands when she needs to let him be with Tom.  It's just like how Tom understands that sometimes it needs to be Chris and Elsa, and Chris understands when it's just Tom and Elsa.  It works, it always has, simply because they all know what the others  _need_.

Chris presses his fingers down onto the curve of Tom's skull and Tom presses back, like a cat looking for a scratch, and it makes Chris smile.  Tom's always liked being taken care of in little ways, and Chris loves being able to give it to him.

"I want," Tom begins, but then pauses, shifting a little, back and forth, before he pulls away from Chris' hand and sits up between Chris' knees.

Chris' mouth goes dry with arousal, because Tom's so fucking  _hard_  and he has to be at the point where it hurts, where he needs to fuck  _something_  or be fucked.

"What?" Chris asks, and Tom flushes.

"I'd like to fuck you tonight," he mumbles, not able to make eye contact with Chris, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck and the other pushing into his thigh, nails digging in to leave crescent moons behind.

Chris sits up and pulls the hand that's marking him away from his skin and presses wet, sloppy kisses to his palm for a moment before grinning.  "All right, love," he says, and moves around on the bed until he's on his knees with his chest pressed to the mattress.

Tom doesn't move, just sits still and stares at him, and Chris tucks his head to the side to peer at him, wiggling his eyebrows in invitation and smiling.

Tom rolls his eyes but smiles, and Chris knows it's because he still rather left the choice in Chris' hands - just in a sneaky way, though Chris knows that Tom knows he's realized it - and reaches out to run his hands down the smooth plane of Chris' back.

"Will you lick him open, Thomas?"

Tom jolts at Elsa's voice because he had probably forgotten that she was there but then he shudders with the thought.  Elsa doesn't like rimming, but for Chris it falls under the category of Things He Loves About Tom's Mouth And What He Can Do With It (he should make a list one day) and he knows that Tom likes to do it.

"Fuck," Tom mumbles and shifts to rest between Chris' legs, and Chris knows that he's probably going to come more than once tonight and he finds himself eager to do so.  It's not anything close to his record (which was 6 over the course of the day, though he was sure that he could come once or twice more but no one was willing to give it a try, the spoilsports) but he loves that hyper-sensitive, almost painful time between coming and getting hard again.

Tom presses his thumbs into the dimples where his back and hips meet and leans forward to press a kiss to each of them.

"Can I?" he asks, lips pressed to the skin and Chris feels it more than hears it.

"Yeah, 'course," he gets out, and closes his knees a little to raise himself up a bit, because he knows that bending over for a long time can get painful after a while.

"I love you," Tom says, hands spread over the span of his hips.  

He rubs for a few seconds before leaning forwards, kissing the nape of Chris' neck, then down the length of his spine before coming to the cleft of his arse; Chris shivers a little just at the thought of Tom licking him open and getting him messy with nothing but his tongue.  Chris moans and presses back against Tom's mouth, still licking swathes of skin on his back, and Tom chuckles.

"You want it, Christopher?"

"Yeah," he manages, and Tom nips at the base of his spine before those damnable hands stroke along the bends of his knees, up his thighs, trace along the press-lines from where they've been on the seams of the sheets.

Like Tom's mouth, Chris could write an ode to his hands.  One of the first things that Chris noticed about him was that he was a hand-talker and if he couldn't talk with his hands he wasn't as animate, wasn't Tom.

His fingers are suited towards playing the piano and making things (though Tom doesn't admit it) and sometimes when they are ships passing in the night Chris will come home to find little paper figurines on his night table, or tucked in his drawers, or in the center console of his car.

Tom takes good care of his hands; he always has them clean and trimmed, though as of late his knuckles have been bruised and swollen from going to the gym and sparring and it makes Chris want to sooth them with his tongue.

Tom normally likes to tease him, but tonight they're so wound up - and it doesn't help that they can hear Elsa in the background, like the hottest soundtrack to cue them up - that Tom just breathes over his hole a few times, hot and wet, and it makes Chris jerk in his hands.

Tom chuckles and then mouths around, pressing licks and kisses into the swell of his arse and then sinking his teeth in the middle of one cheek; just shy of too hard but hard enough that Chris knows it'll stay for a day or so.

But there are better things for Tom to do rather then press his teeth into Chris' skin, like trace his tongue in winding patterns around his hole and down his balls and back up, and that has Chris pressing backwards hard enough that Tom has to shift around so that his nose doesn't get flattened.

Though Chris likes to hear Tom beg - and he does it so prettily, so well - but Tom prefers Chris to stay quiet until he can't take it any more, until he can't control his vocal cords.  Normally he can last until Tom is balls deep in him, but then Tom lays a filthy, open-mouthed kiss over his hole as though he was kissing his mouth, hot and dirty and sloppy.  Chris doesn't know the  _word_  to express the noise that comes out of his mouth.

"God," Tom mumbles behind him, and Chris can't even think about looking at him right now because he'll come, he'll come so hard and he wants to make it a little longer, just a little.

Now he sets about opening him up for real, thumbs holding him wide open and Chris wonders what people would think if they could see this, the way that Chris bends and shifts and moans for Tom, but then realizes that he doesn't give a fuck.  He loves this man and his wife and he wants them both, forever, until death parts them.  It makes him seize up around Tom's tongue and barely avoid coming all over the sheets.

Tom takes extra time getting him wet and sloppy, because  _god_  it's been too long for the two of them, too long since Chris has been fucked.  Tom takes his time until he can tongue-fuck him, and Chris knows that he's moaning and panting now but everything is focused on the warm pressure of Tom's hands and the pulse of his cock against the sheets and Tom's warm, rough tongue.

His jaw must be aching but he licks Chris out until he deems him loose enough, and he moves his hand to press one thumb against his perineum and Chris can't  _help_  it. He comes, pressing back against Tom's mouth and down against the sheets and he's gasping out his name like a refrain, "Tom, Tom, Tom."

Tom pets over his back as he comes down, pulling away to pop his jaw as he makes long sweeps of his hand.  Chris shifts to rest on his side once he can feel his legs again and grins crookedly, and Tom looks just wrecked, lips swollen and eyes wild, pupils dilated so that barely any of the iris shows.

"Ok?" Tom asks, thumbs resting in the dimples of his back and Chris nods.

Tom slips off the bed and rifles around in Chris' suitcase to get the lube - they gave up using condoms last year, even with Elsa, because she said that if she got pregnant she wouldn't mind having a passel of children.

"I think you should only give him two fingers, Thomas, to make sure he still feels it tomorrow," Elsa breathes in the background, and when Chris turns to look at her he knows that she came based on the slump of her shoulders alone.

Chris smiles at the camera and Elsa grins back, setting back into her pillows.

"Chris?" Tom always defers to him, even though Tom knows that Chris likes it rough and he'd probably let Tom fuck him with only their spit to pave the way (though, it might take some convincing Tom, since he detests hurting someone unless they really ask for it, mostly because it makes him nervous that he's not hurting them  _right_ ).

"Go on, love," Chris says, and he's gotten enough energy back that he wiggles his arse a little and Tom laughs.

He's just loose enough for Tom to slip in one long, lubed finger and it makes him sigh, still lax in his pleasure and too loose-limbed to assist.  No matter how hard he's going to fuck him, Tom always starts out gentle, murmuring things that Chris can barely catch.  Tom knows that he isn't the only man that's fucked him, but he knows that he's the only man that has ever mattered to Chris.  Chris is always to hyper-masculine in things that Tom loves that Chris lets him see this side, the soft side, and it's only ever otherwise shown to Elsa.

Tom moves on to the second finger - the only other finger - quicker than normal because Chris has already come and is loose around his finger.  Tom knows exactly where his prostate is and catches on it every other thrust, making Chris moan and shiver until he's hard again.

" _Fuck_ ," Tom hisses, and Chris looks behind him to see Tom fucking into his own hand and it makes him shiver and quake, because he can never get over how  _gorgeous_  Tom is and how he wants this, he  _wants_  to be with Chris and Elsa and no one else.

"Tom," he whines, nasal and high, because he just  _needs_ , needs to feel the burn of being fucked open hard and filthy, he needs to feel Tom to remember that this is  _real_.

"Good?" Tom asks, and in answer Chris shoves back hard on his fingers, all the way to the knuckle and it makes Tom rasp, "You're so fucking wonderful," before he pulls his fingers away and begins to slick up his cock.

Chris rolls on his back - he can't not see Tom the first time, he has to be like this - and it gives him a wondrous view of Tom sitting back on his haunches, head thrown back and throat working as he strokes himself.   _God_ , Chris loves watching him like this; it's one of his favorite things to see, Tom pulling one out, especially when Tom lets go and comes all over him.  It's so primal and messy and out of all of his many kinks, it's probably his favorite.

Tom finally pulls his hand away and wipes it on his singlet - and Chris wonders what they'll do with that - and drags a pillow under Chris' hips before pulling his legs up and resting his ankles on his shoulders.

He doesn't even ask before he starts pressing in, slow, enough that Chris doesn't really feel pain so much as an ache deep within him, almost like an itch being scratched.

Tom huffs out his breaths against the bones of Chris' ankle, tongue darting out to lick at the salt and sweat and soon enough he's balls deep.  He pauses for a moment, waiting just long enough for Chris to nod.

He starts out slow, long, deep thrusts that have Chris moaning and curling a hand around his cock to touch himself loosely, because he can't come from prostate stimulation alone.

Tom always pays attention to the hitch of his breath and he knows when he can start moving faster, slim hips beginning to work as he presses Chris' knees in closer to his chest.

Chris thinks for a moment that he regrets being as bulky as he is right now because Tom can't bend him in half like he could when he was filming  _Rush_  or  _Ollie Klublershturf vs the Nazis_  but soon, soon enough he'll be slimmed back down and Tom can fold him in half and fuck him 'til he cries.

It all fades - though he can hear Tom telling him sweet things and filthy things all mixed together, he can't really understand the words because all he can focus on is the slide of his cock and the bursts of pleasure as Tom catches his prostate with the head of his cock.

He holds out the hand not stroking his cock and Tom reaches for it, twines their fingers together and he leans forward, pressing in and down and  _god_ , it's been too long for this, for  _them_.

He presses down until Chris is just before his breaking point and then Tom starts fucking him like he  _means_  it, hips snapping and his eyes closed because Chris knows that sometimes he can't watch or he'll come embarrassingly quickly.

(Chris loves it when that happens because it means that he can get Tom to come more than once in the course of the night.)

Tom fucks him, there isn't any other way to say it; it's certainly not making love, not this time, not as Tom gets rougher and harder and faster, and bares his teeth. His eyes are slits and Chris knows he's close.

He speeds up the hand on his cock to match Tom's pace (and in the background, he can hear Elsa moaning and knows that she's close to coming, and he wants nothing more than to have her there with them) and he knows things are spilling out of his mouth like  _yes_  and  _please_  and  _more_  and  _harder_.

He's trying to arch his back but he can't because he's all fucking muscle and no stretch and he aches,  _aches_  to be able to plaster himself along Tom but that will come, someday in the future.

Just as he can feel his second orgasm, Tom's thrusts falter and shake and then he's coming, hips stuttering and the feel of it sends Chris over the edge, panting and almost crying with how intense it is, and it's mind-blowing how Tom can make him turn into this.

Tom slips his ankles off of his shoulders and slumps forward, their hands still linked, still inside him, and when Chris reaches up after a few moments to brush the hair out of Tom's eyes Tom turns his head and catches his fingers in his mouth, licking the traces of come from his fingers.

Chris hears the soft disconnect sound from Skype but ignores it because he knows that Elsa has left them a typed message, and he'll get to it when he gets to it.

Tom pulls out and they both squirm at the feeling and Tom stumbles into the bathroom to get a warm, wet cloth; Chris doesn't much like being taken care of like this but he lets Tom wipe him off and make sure that he hasn't done any damage.

When they're both clean - but Chris knows that they'll need a shower in the morning, maybe two, one for Chris to fuck Tom in and then the second to actually get clean - Tom pushes the soiled blanket off the bed and gets the spare from the closet as Chris actually shuts down his computer and they snuggle underneath it.

Chris manhandles Tom into being the little spoon and their fingers link.  He loves this, the closeness and the sweetness.  He knows that they both needed this, that the both needed to be together and remember what it is that they have.

"I love you," Tom says, soft and sweet.

Chris presses a kiss behind his ear.  "And I love you," he answers, and Tom turns his head a little to smile back at him.

"Chris?"

"Hmm?"

"When we're able to go home, do you think that - well, do you think that, maybe ..." he trails off, as if he doesn't know how to word what he wants.

"You can ask me for anything, Tom."

"Do you think that maybe I could move my things to your room? You always told me I could, and I - I didn't want to intrude, but now - I want that," he says, and Chris can feel how tense he is, how nervous he is to ask for this.

Chris told him when they got serious that Tom could move his things into the master bedroom since he and Elsa were both serious about Tom, but Tom always just said that there wasn't enough room, and it was their house.  It stung, at first, but Elsa told him one night that Tom still thought that this wasn't serious and sooner or later that they would tire of him.

It's not true, of course.

"Of course, Tom.  Of course."

Tom tugs his arms tighter around him and settles back and Chris knows that all is well, and soon enough they'll all be together.


End file.
